The Sweetest Revenge (2 page)

The next day, Abigail awoke feeling refreshed and in an extremely good mood — despite the disturbance of her sleep. She put it down to her nocturnal masturbation session, and the resultant orgasm. Thinking about it made Mackenzie pop into her head again, and she decided that today would be the day that she'd make the motorcycle courier notice her — if she came to the offices today, that was. She delivered something most days, though, so there was a good chance that she would. And if she did, Abigail was going to make sure she was in the foyer, looking hot, and ready to say something to the woman she'd been crushing on for so long. She may not summon up the courage to ask her out, but she was determined to at least talk to her — beyond signing for a package — so Mackenzie would at least knew she existed.

Scrambling out of bed, she pulled off her pyjamas and headed into the bathroom. After using the toilet, she reached through the shower curtain and turned on the taps, holding her hand beneath the spray until it reached the perfect temperature. Then she stepped in, relishing the feel of the hot water on her skin.

She didn't relish it for too long, however, as she knew she'd have to make her shower a speedy one if she intended to spend some time on getting ready. It would take a while to dry and straighten her long, thick dark hair and to put her makeup on. Abigail smiled. It was like preparing for a date, not a day at work. But then, it was going to be no ordinary day at work. It was going to be the one where she got Mackenzie to notice her. Hopefully.

She finished showering, wrapped her hair up in a towel and headed into her bedroom. Standing naked, she let her body air dry as she flicked through the items in her wardrobe to find something suitable. She wanted something that made her look sexy, but without going overboard. The last thing she needed was for her colleagues to notice and to start teasing her. That would hardly give her the confidence she needed to approach Mackenzie.

Eventually, she settled on a black pencil skirt and a white blouse which, if the top button was left undone, gave a spectacular view of her ample cleavage. Underneath, she wore her sexiest white bra and matching thong, as well as black hold up stockings. She knew that out of all her saucy underwear, only the stockings — and perhaps the odd peep of her bra — would be visible, but it didn't matter. The feeling of sexiness and confidence they gave her was what was important. She stroked her hands up her legs, enjoying the feel of the luxurious, silky material beneath her fingers. A frisson of excitement ran through her as she imagined Mackenzie doing it, instead. Only
her
hands would continue right up to the top of the stockings, and beyond, as she sought what was hiding beneath that little white thong.

Abigail shook her head. She didn't have time to start daydreaming about Mackenzie now, she'd only end up wanting to masturbate again, and that would make her late for work — not to mention creasing her clothes and messing up her hair and makeup. She stood up sharply, and slipped her feet into the black stilettos she'd chosen from her shoe collection. With a last look in the full length mirror by the door, she sauntered from the room and headed downstairs to grab her bag, keys and lunch, and left for work.

Abigail's morning at work crawled. She had plenty to do, but none of it was particularly taxing, so she had half a mind on her tasks — probably less — and the rest of her brain was busy concentrating on the minutes ticking by and wondering when, and if, Mackenzie was going to show up. She'd also been vaguely aware of the glances a couple of her male colleagues were throwing her way. Her outfit was obviously drawing some attention. She didn't know whether to sigh or smile. On the one hand, she didn't want the attention from the guys she worked with — although they knew how pointless it was, given her open sexuality. But on the other hand, she obviously looked good if they were looking at her. Abigail clung to the positive aspect and hoped that Mackenzie would be as appreciative as the men in her office seemed to be.

If she ever turned up, of course.

The throaty roar of an engine made her head snap up and she looked out of the window. Her heart rate picked up and almost instantly, her palms became sweaty. Pulling her hands from the computer keyboard, Abigail stood and, as casually as possible, made her way out of the office and towards the foyer. Fortunately, the toilets were off the corridor which led to reception, so hopefully that's where her colleagues would assume she'd gone. As soon as she was out of sight of her office, she walked faster, desperate to get to Mackenzie before anyone else did.

Surreptitiously wiping her hands on her skirt, she then pushed open the door that led to the foyer. And not a moment too soon. The courier was just walking through the front doors, which had been left open on account of the freak spring heat, and was marching purposely across the room towards the reception desk. Abigail looked across at the desk and saw that Naomi — the receptionist — was on the phone. The timing couldn't be more perfect. She took it as a good sign, and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Then, striding forward, Abigail caught Mackenzie's attention before she reached the desk.

“Hi,” she said, coming to a stop in front of the leather-clad babe. “Would you like me to sign for that?” She held out her hand towards the clipboard the other woman carried.

Mackenzie looked to the receptionist, who was still on the phone, then back at Abigail. She shrugged, before handing the clipboard to her. “Makes no difference to me, as long as someone does.”

Abigail tried not to bristle at the courier's abrupt tone, and instead beamed at her. “I'd be happy to. Do you have a pen?”

Wordlessly, the redhead unzipped her jacket and reached into the inside pocket. She handed the pen to Abigail, who suddenly realised she was running out of time to say something.

“Thank you,” she took the pen and looked at the clipboard. Then she looked up again, before the nerves got the better of her, and said, nodding down at her leathers, “What sort of bike do you have?”

A tiny frown appeared between Mackenzie's eyebrows, then a look of annoyance crossed her face. “It's a Ducati Monster. Why?”

Abigail was taken aback by the other woman's continued rudeness, but carried on regardless. She'd come too far to chicken out now. “I like it, is all. I just wondered.”

Mackenzie's expression softened, a slight glint in her brown eyes. “Yeah. She's a beauty, isn't she? Best money I ever spent.”

Abigail was aware that the courier was looking pointedly at the paperwork which she still hadn't signed, so she blurted out her question. “Do you ever take passengers? Riding pillion, isn't it?”

She knew damn well it was. She'd looked it up on the internet a while back, when she'd started crushing on the younger woman — determined she'd have something interesting to say should they ever have a conversation.

Mackenzie's frown reappeared, deeper this time, and she put her hands on her hips. “Yes, it is. And yes I do, sometimes. Now would you please sign the paperwork so I can be on my way? I don't have all day to stand around chatting. Nor do I want to.”

Abigail raised her eyebrows. She hadn't been expecting Mackenzie to run into her arms and for them to skip off into the sunset together, but she didn't expect this. It seemed Little Miss Hot Biker Chick had an attitude problem. Well, if that was the case, then she wanted nothing more to do with her. She may have the biggest crush on the woman, but if her personality didn't match up to her stunning looks, then she wasn't the girl for Abigail. Rude bitch.

Abigail scribbled her signature and unceremoniously thrust the clipboard back at Mackenzie, who handed her the parcel and stormed off without another word. Abigail watched through the glass doors as the redhead reached her bike, stowed the clipboard in the back box and pulled on her helmet and gloves before starting the engine and zooming out of the car park. She shook her head.
Thank God I didn't let on that I liked her. That would have been even worse.

Turning, she saw that the receptionist was no longer on the phone and was looking at her with an expectant expression. Smiling, Abigail moved over to the desk and handed over the parcel, with the comment, “Well, isn't she just a ray of sunshine?”

The receptionist looked confused, but before she had the chance to ask any questions Abigail walked away, back the way she'd come. She acted as cool as possible as she pushed open the door, knowing the receptionist could see her, then headed into the Ladies' toilets. After ascertaining that she was alone, she let down the facade.

Resting her hands on the edge of the nearest sink, she looked into the mirror. Her cheeks sported spots of colour, and her eyes shone with unshed tears. She pulled in a deep breath through her nose, determined not to let the tears fall. Mackenzie may be hot, but she certainly wasn't worth shedding tears over — especially as she was clearly a total and utter bitch.

After a couple of in-through-the-nose out-through-the-mouth breaths, Abigail felt confident she wasn't going to burst into tears. Thank God. No amount of makeup would hide the fact she'd been crying — plus her handbag was at her desk, so there'd be no way to cover up her upset.

She glanced in the mirror again. The colour in her face was still there, but now she looked more pissed off than upset. Which, Abigail realised, was exactly how she felt. She latched onto that feeling and allowed the indignant, angry thoughts to run through her head.
How dare she treat me like that? What a cow. No wonder her bike is the most important thing in her life. If she speaks to everyone like that, she'll have no friends, and her family probably don't speak to her.

By the time she exited the bathroom and settled back into the chair at her desk, she had a multitude of venomous thoughts in her head, not to mention a plan to get her own back on the spiteful redheaded courier.

What's that phrase again? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Well, Mackenzie is going to find out all about that. And soon.

A week later, Abigail got into the office early. She wanted to be there first so she could talk to some of her colleagues before they switched on their computers and started work. Her male colleagues, specifically. She remembered who'd looked at her when she'd dressed up the previous week and was going to target them. She'd dressed to impress once more, and had her fingers crossed that her outfit, coupled with her feminine charms would persuade the guys to go along with her devious plan.

Within half an hour, everything was in place. Abigail had taken advantage of the fact that the men she'd spoken to were each convinced they'd be able to ‘turn' her and had giggled and flirted herself into the result she wanted.

Now all she had to do was wait.

It was almost lunchtime before the noise of the Ducati's engine alerted Abigail to the courier's imminent arrival. Immediately, she stood up from her desk and walked through the office, touching each of her co-conspirators on the shoulder or back as she passed. Checking to see if they'd all acknowledged her signal, she then made her way towards Reception. As planned, the receptionist passed her in the corridor, on her way to assist one of the guys in Abigail's office with some bogus task. Not that the receptionist realised it was bogus, of course. As long as there was no one at the front desk when Mackenzie walked in, then everything was on track for Abigail's plan.

Lurking in the corridor, she looked through the glass doors, watching as Mackenzie approached the Reception desk. Sure that the receptionist would be distracted for a while, Abigail slipped away and round to the side door of the building where her male colleagues were waiting for her. She flashed them all a huge grin, pushing out her generous tits and then urged one of the guys, Harry, to open the door.

Quickly, they headed outside and round to the front of the building, and the car park. There stood Mackenzie's bike, in all its khaki green splendour.

“Okay,” Abigail said, glancing over towards the front door of the building to make sure Mackenzie wasn't on her way out. “Let's get going.”

The other two guys moved towards the bike immediately, but Harry hesitated, shifting from foot to foot. “I don't know, Abigail. Is this a good idea? She could get us arrested or something, couldn't she? And why exactly are we moving her bike?”

Abigail sighed heavily, putting her hands on her hips. She could hardly tell the truth — that she wanted to get her own back because Mackenzie had been such a bitch to her — so instead she reiterated, as patiently as possible, the story she'd told them earlier. “It's just a joke, Harry. It's April Fool's Day, remember? It'll just wind Mackenzie up, that's all. Of course we won't get arrested. You're being a tad melodramatic there, don't you think?”

In actual fact, Abigail didn't think Harry was exaggerating at all. She alone — having watched the redhead so often — knew how much the bike meant to Mackenzie and that she would probably hit the proverbial roof when she saw it was gone. Especially since she had taken the keys with her, so whoever had taken it had to have pushed it, or loaded it onto a truck — no easy task. Normally, of course, she was in and out of the office building with her deliveries in a few minutes so that would be virtually impossible, but today she was probably still standing at the Reception desk waiting for someone to show up. Maybe eventually she'd stick her head through the double doors into the office to find someone to sign for the parcel.

And by the time she got back to the car park, her pride and joy would be gone. It would only be around the side of the building, of course, but Mackenzie wasn't to know that.

By now, the men had the bike surrounded. Thankfully, the courier hadn't locked the steering, otherwise it would have meant lifting the front wheel to get the vehicle to move anywhere except in circles. Two of the men took a handlebar each, and Harry, over his misgivings by now, stood at the back, his hands on the rack beneath the box that held the parcels Mackenzie was due to deliver that day.

“Okay?” Abigail said, crossing her arms across her front and grinning widely. “Let's get going, guys. She is gonna
freak
!” Her words came out sounding perhaps a little too excited, but since the boys were now busily pushing the heavy motorcycle across the car park, they didn't take too much notice. Once they got some momentum going, they were a little quicker, but it didn't stop Abigail repeatedly glancing back to the main doors to make sure a furious Mackenzie wasn't stomping across the car park to kill them all.

An illicit thrill ran through Abigail. This was absolutely, unequivocally, the most genius plan she'd ever concocted. Not that she made a habit of playing tricks on people, but then generally people weren't unpleasant to her, and therefore didn't deserve it.

Soon, the four of them and the bike were safely ensconced around the side of the office building, out of sight. Abigail turned to the men, grinning. “Thanks guys. You go on in. I don't want you to get into trouble if the boss man comes down. And if he does, just tell him I'm in the bathroom with women's troubles. He won't question that.”

The facial expressions of the three men told Abigail that very few males would question that excuse, let alone their male chauvinist pig of a boss. They nodded and, with a final check to make sure the Ducati was firmly on its stand, they headed indoors.

As soon as the door was closed behind them — though not fully, or she wouldn't be able to get back in — Abigail turned to the bike, beaming from ear to ear. She had to hold herself back from squealing, clapping her hands and jumping around like an excitable child. So far, her plan had gone off without a hitch and now, she hoped, she was about to reap the rewards — Mackenzie's reaction.

Creeping to the corner of the building, she peered around it. Her timing was perfect. She watched as Mackenzie exited the offices, her face clearly showing her annoyance at having been made to wait around. It took a couple of seconds before she realised she was stomping across the car park towards...absolutely nothing. Abigail stifled a giggle as Mackenzie's mouth dropped open in the exaggerated fashion of a cartoon character's. The other woman's eyes narrowed, and she looked around the car park, clearly expecting to see evidence of what had happened, or a witness. Unfortunately for her, the only witness was also the instigator, and wasn't going to say a word.

Mackenzie started to walk around the car park, peering behind some of the bigger, bulkier cars, as though expecting to find her beloved motorcycle hiding behind one of them. Of course, she didn't find it, and after a few minutes of fruitless searching, she stormed back into the offices.

Abigail sucked in a breath. She hadn't been expecting that. Honestly, she hadn't really thought too much about what would happen after Mackenzie's initial discovery that her bike was gone, and now she realised her mistake. In getting the guys involved, she risked them telling the courier exactly what had happened. Mackenzie's pissed-off look was pretty damn terrifying, and she wouldn't blame them for spilling the beans. It had been funny at first, but now after seeing the woman's reaction first hand, she realised perhaps she'd taken things a bit too far. Maybe hiding her gloves or helmet would have been okay — seen as a joke — but the whole bike? Definitely over the top.

Abigail ducked back around the corner — despite there now being nobody to see her — and leaned against the wall, her heart pounding. She looked at the bike and forced her brain to come up with something. What should she do next? Stay with the bike until Mackenzie actually found it — presuming she ever did — and give her snarkiest “ha ha!”; run back into the offices and plead ignorance; or find the courier and confess what she'd done, before things went too far?

The door a few feet away from her flying open and slamming back against the wall made Abigail jump, and her heart leapt painfully. Her pulse grew even faster, especially when she saw an incensed-looking Mackenzie step out into the alleyway. She looked at the younger woman wide-eyed, and flattened herself against the wall, as though she could disguise or hide herself against the rough bricks. Ridiculous, she knew, but anyone faced with an incredibly angry redhead in motorcycle leathers would have the same reaction. Unless they too, were terrifying. Which Abigail most certainly was not.

The cogs in her brain were still turning, desperately trying to come up with a reaction. Something to say, something to do. But fear, it seemed, had paralysed her thought processes as well as her body. And the longer she did nothing, the worse it got. A few seconds of silence between the two women felt like forever, and Abigail felt like she was two breaths away from breaking down in tears, getting down on bended knees and begging forgiveness. Even though Mackenzie had deserved it, she just wanted to end this crazy, scary tension and get the inevitable confrontation over with.

She didn't have to wait much longer. In the moments of Abigail's panic, Mackenzie had been busily inspecting her bike. Finding no damage, she turned slowly to the older woman, and said coldly, “You.”